atop a California-bred bucking bull
named Bushwacker, a two-time P.B.R.
World Champion Bull---according to
Beck, "the Muhammad Ali of bulls"---for
eight seconds. If Harris succeeded, Beck
would be writing the promoter a check to
cover most of the payout.
Strictly speaking, Beck's employer,
SCA Promotions, Inc., where his title is
vice-president of claims and security,
is not in the insurance business. "Pro-
motional risk coverage" is the preferred
term; when consumers or contestants are
o ered the chance to win a car or a vaca-
tion or a pile of money, SCA, for a nego-
tiated fee, agrees to pay any winners. Be-
fore joining SCA, Beck, who is now in his
mid-fifties, worked as a State Farm claims
adjuster in Oklahoma. Before that, he was
a cop. On the side, he's a magician and a
tournament bridge player, which is how
he met SCA's founder, Bob Hamman,
who, Texas Monthly once noted, is "widely
recognized as the best bridge player on
the planet." SCA's contract with the
North Dakota promoter, Chad Berger,
stipulated that, if the bull rider won the
hundred thousand, Berger's risk would be
limited to a five-figure amount, based on
the actuarial calculation that Bushwacker
bucks o nineteen of every twenty riders.
In New York one recent day on other
business, Beck decided to visit the Amer-
ican Museum of Natural History. The
beastly heat had also come to town, so he
picked a cool spot inside the Hall of Asian
Mammals, sat on a bench not far from a
diorama featuring Bushwacker's distant
cousin, a gaur (a.k.a. Indian bison), one of
the world's largest surviving bovine spe-
cies, and chatted about the art and science
of fat chances. "Any way to win a million
dollars you can imagine, we've probably
covered that," he said.
Beck's duties extend beyond globe-
trotting with a loaded checkbook. On a
trip to New York ten years ago, he brought
a bottle of spaghetti sauce bearing a win-
ning-numbered label worth a million dol-
lars. (The promotion was the sauce com-
pany's idea.) Accompanied by a third
party, he hid the bottle inside his shirt,
took it to a randomly selected grocery
store in Bay Ridge, and reverse-shoplifted.
Whoever eventually bought it, sadly, never
checked the label. Though Beck has no
interest in gambling, he spends a lot of
time in casinos---e.g.,Tunica, Mississippi,
seven blackjack players, one hand apiece, a
million to anyone dealt the ace and the
jack of spades; Las Vegas, Hard Rock Ca-
sino, one roll of the dice, a million for
snake eyes or boxcars. At an ESPN Zone
in Chicago, one of five pool players had a
shot at a million if he could sink the eight
ball on the break. In Bangkok, in 2007,
with five million dollars on the line and
one contestant holding a three-digit
ticket, an elephant pulled numbers out of
a trash can. Each time, only Beck went
home truly happy.
In Bismarck, Beck spent several hours
with Bushwacker before the big event.
"It was interesting to see his demeanor
change," he said. "As soon as they started
moving the bulls out of the pens into the
bucking chutes, I could see Bushwacker
go from docile to this"---he pantomimed
a bull pawing the ground---"and I thought,
This bull knows." He watched J. W. Har-
ris successfully ride a bull named Cow-
town Slinger and noticed that, afterward,
he seemed to have a sore arm. "Even be-
fore he got on Bushwacker, I was pretty
sure he had no chance," Beck said.
The ride lasted less than four seconds.
Beck returned to his hotel, set the alarm,
and went to bed. It had been a profitable
day at the o ce, if less exciting than
March 23, 2001, when the de-orbiting
Mir space station missed, by thousands
of miles, a forty-foot floating target that
was part of a Taco Bell promotion---and
1
ODD JOBS
RISKY BUSINESS
When a fellow-passenger asks Nor-
man Beck, a more than frequent
flier, what he does for a living, Beck has
two standard replies. If he's not in the
mood for conversation, he says, "I'm in
the claims business." If he's feeling chatty,
they hear, poetically hyperbolically, "I
have the strangest job in the world."
Last month, Beck left his home in
Dallas, flew to Fargo, North Dakota,
drove three hours to Bismarck, and
checked into a Comfort Suites.The Pro-
fessional Bull Riders tour was in town,
and a local promoter was o ering J. W.
Harris, a four-time Professional Rodeo
Cowboys Association champion, a hun-
dred thousand dollars if he could stay
"I'm concerned about my legacy---kill the historians."
peace, then said, "And, by the way, getting
hammered once a month on tequila? Just
as important. Tequila is good for you."
Perhaps an Adam Levine tequila, with
citrusy notes? "Don't think that's not in
the works!" he cried, sweeping the snack
plate clean.
---Tad Friend